


Just You, Me, and the Moon

by InkedwithLove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A lot of kissing, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Angst, Coming Out, Duke!Louis, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Smut, Song fic, Supportive Moms, and cuddling, but like...soft core, end of the day fic, masquerades and balls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-09 16:55:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11673255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkedwithLove/pseuds/InkedwithLove
Summary: “Louis?” Harry called before he can help himself. Louis stopped at the door, a hand on the frame. He was waiting for him to continue, Harry realised. So, he said the first thing that came to his mind. “Will I see you again? I mean, we could be great friends and I enjoyed your company and—”“We didn’t really talk much for you to say that, but yes, we will meet again. I’m here till the end of the season.” There was a pause. “Will you recognize me without my mask? You are easy to find, what with your hair and all.”“It will only take one look into your eyes. I will know it’s you.”(Or)It was the beginning of the 19th century when Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson fell in love.





	Just You, Me, and the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of the challenge "MITAM songs as fics" for the song "End of the Day".  
> I hope everyone will enjoy my interpretation of the song! ^_^

**12 th January 1820**

Louis William Tomlinson, the Duke of Wellington, experienced terror for the first time when he heard the words 'Most Eligible Bachelor' and his name in the same sentence.

“No. No no no no no,” Louis felt like a little kid, pleading his mother to reconsider her decision. “Please do not do this. I thought you loved me. Was that all an act? Why would you want to take my life away from me?” Louis dropped heavily into the arm chair, an arm draped over his eyes.

When everything was too quiet, he slowly moved his hand an inch and peeked through the gap. His mother was still working on her embroidery. His oldest sister had her hands on her hips, glaring at him. After another moment of silence, she threw her hands up and walked away, muttering something close to ‘melodramatic’ and ‘bad actor’.

“Hey!” Louis sat up straight. “I was always the Romeo in my college days. And we performed the play at least five times over the years!” But his sister was already gone. He took a deep breath and turned to his mother, who was trying to suppress her smile. “Mother.”

“Louis, sweetheart, I only asked you to attend the ball in a week, right in this house. You are already here—”

“To get a break from all the work, mother.”

“Just appear and dance with a lady or two, for my sake, so that all the mothers will get off my back. Please?”

“Only for an hour an hour or two.”

“And, you may even find the lucky lady—”

“No.”

“You are 27, dear. It is a good age to get married. I’m not saying you must. Just that keep your mind open to the idea,” Johannah said. She got up and placed her hand on Louis’ arm. “I want you to be happy.”

Louis forced a smile, and nodded. “Okay. For you.”

...

Louis was furiously penning a letter to his estate managers, asking them not to disturb him for the next five to six months and take care of the business. He had full confidence in his secretary, Niall, that he would be able to take care of everything.

After sealing the last letter and calling the butler to get them delivered, he relaxed in his chair and let out a long-suffering sigh. His mother was the smartest person he knew, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. But he was.

As he promised that he would attend the ball she would be hosting, she simply sent all the attendants cards saying the ball would be hosted at the end of June, and somehow managed to convince him to stay in London to attend the whole season.

All this in just a span of two days.

He looked at the heap of invitations scattered on his desk. His gaze traveled around the room, thinking about his father. He used to work there when his father was still alive and was taking the place at the Wellington house. It held many memories, of working too hard trying to impress his father, always being called out the slightest mistakes but nothing about the piles of right work he did.

Not even a ‘good work, son’ or a smile.

He repeated his mother’s words in his head. “He is busy, dear.” and the sad smile that accompanied it.

Louis scoffed.

Busy for three years. That’s how long it had been since he had seen his father. The last time was to welcome him back from Eton, and explain what is expected of him, being the eldest son.  
And three years later, a letter saying that his father was dead and he was now the Duke of Wellington.

A heart stroke, they said. He remembered laughing harshly about how surprised he was that the old man had a heart, while tears streamed down his face.

He suddenly stood up, picking up a card at random. Masquerade ball that evening at the Norfolk house. He had three more hours. Might as well attend and get to meet new people.

...

An hour into the ball, and having his toes mercilessly stamped by one of daughters of Lady Abernathy, he excused himself to the balcony. He danced with—no, was forced to dance with five women, two of them were as reluctant as he was, but were being forced into the marriage mart by their eager mothers.

They were nice company—except Lady Abernathy’s daughter, who stepped on his toes  _fifteen_  times—but marriage was the last thing he wanted with them. Or with anyone for that matter.

His mask was itchy near his cheekbones, but the blue satin all around was comfortable enough that he didn’t remove it. Besides, he liked the relief it gave from his dukedom. Without knowing who he was, he had to endure five dances. If the word got out about his actual stature, he would be swarmed. He shuddered at the thought as he stepped into the balcony.

It was overlooking a garden, filled with hyacinths of different shades. The blues and purples dimmed in the faint glow of the moon. It was a starless night, clouds obscuring them, but the moon managed to peak out every now and then. He took a deep breath and let the air out in a whoosh.

“Oh!” he heard someone to his right and turned to see a man leaning on the barricade, looking at him. His face was shadowed, but his green eyes were striking, made brighter by the black mask covering half of his face. “I didn’t see you there.”

...

Harry Styles was a romantic at heart. At least that’s what he always said to his mother when he was asked about marriage. That he will fall in love and marry and live happily ever after with seven kids. Being the second son of a Baron, he didn’t get many invites to the parties, but when he saw the butler bring in the invite to a masquerade ball, from the duchess of Norfolk, he pretty much squealed and woke little Bethy.

“Seriously Harry, what is it?” his sister, Gemma, asked while glaring at him. He was at her house in London, enjoying the vacation he got from managing his little estate in the countryside.

“There is a masquerade ball this evening. Can I come with you, please?” he tried his most earnest expression on, but his sister must have been immune to them. He blamed Bethy, the little devil.

“I’m not going, but you can. Tell the hostess that I’m very sorry that I wasn’t able to attend.”

“You are not really sorry.”

“No, I’m not, but they don’t have to know that,” his sister smirked. “And I have a black mask that you would love. Ask Bonnie to fetch it for you.”

He was at the party at the exact time. The guests were just arriving. He stood out from the other men, earned a few double takes, what with his hair being shoulder length, and boots higher than the men in London preferred that year. He just shrugged and walked in, greeting the hostess and many other society heads.

He made sure to dance with as many ladies as he could, and their mothers too. But after a stressful dance with Lady Abernathy’s daughter who managed to step on his toes exactly  _fifteen_  times by the end of the waltz, he walked to the balcony out of self-preservation.

He was having a peaceful time, seconds slowly ticking into minutes when he heard a sigh. His heart almost jumped out as he turned around and an ‘Oh!’ slipped out of his lips.

He saw a man turn around, and smiled at him. “I didn’t see you there,” he said, walking closer to introduce himself.

The man’s eyes were wide with the unexpected company, and Harry observed that their colour matched the bunch of hyacinths over at the left side of the garden. A forget-me-not blue eyes.

“Oh, hello. I thought I was alone.”

“Do you want to? I can leave,” Harry said, unnecessarily pointing to the only exit.

“No. No, it’s alright. I’m Louis,” he offered his hand to shake. Harry took it with a smile. “Just Louis? Nothing else?”

Louis returned the smile. “It is a masquerade after all.”

Harry chuckled and nodded. “I’m Harry.”

They turned towards the garden, basking in the dimming light of the moon, as a particularly persistent cloud tried to hide it. There was silence, but not uncomfortable, and only the wind and low murmur from the party disturbed it.

“Are you here tonight in search for the lucky lady?” Harry asked, slightly turning to look at the man. He had his eyes turned towards the moon, his chin high up and hands delicately placed on the banister. Harry’s mind felt a little fuzzy, because it was the first time he thought of anything related to a man as _delicate_.

“What makes you so sure that she would be ‘lucky’?” the smirk was evident in the voice, but he still didn’t turn around to face Harry.

“It’s just a guess. You seem like a decent person, and if she gets bored talking to you, she can always look into your eyes. You have interesting eyes. Very intriguing.” Harry slammed his jaw shut when Louis turned his sharp gaze towards him.

“You are drunk,” he said it like a statement, not a question. And Harry went with it as that would be an easier explanation than why he said those things in the first place. He wasn’t drunk. No. But something about Louis, maybe the mystery in not knowing who he really was, or the curiosity to see his complete face, made him a bit careless.

“Maybe. But one always speaks the truth when one is inebriated,” he moved closer, a teasing smirk on his face. Oh lord. Maybe he  _was_  drunk.

Silence enveloped them again, but this time, they were a little closer. Harry could hear the carriages being filled and people leaving the party.

“I think the ball is coming to an end. We better leave,” Louis said, walking towards the doors.

“Louis?” Harry called before he can help himself. Louis stopped at the door, a hand on the frame. He was waiting for him to continue, Harry realised. So, he said the first thing that came to his mind. “Will I see you again? I mean, we could be great friends and I enjoyed your company and—”

“We didn’t really talk much for you to say that, but yes, we will meet again. I’m here till the end of the season.” There was a pause. “Will you recognize me without my mask? You are easy to find, what with your hair and all.”

“It will only take one look into your eyes. I will know it’s you.”

Louis turned then, staring at Harry with an intense gaze. Harry stood there, waiting for him to say something, but he only gave a nod and stepped out.

Harry was left alone in the company of the moon, the howling wind, and with the thoughts of the blue-eyed man.

...

**1 st February 1820**

"Please?"

"No."

"I need an escort, and who's better than my brother?"

"You are only acting on mother's request to get me out of the house. What did she promise you?"

"A reprieve from the ball at Abernathys'—no! I mean, I didn't—Oh, please Lou?" Charlotte was determined, and Louis could see why. Apparently, the men of Abernathy family were horrible dancers too.

Louis thought for a moment and sighed. “So, where are we going?”

“Lady Gemma is hosting a dance, it’s her brother’s birthday. It would be enjoyable, really. Gemma is a kind and smart hostess. It’s a small gathering too. We were invited only because mother and Lady Anne are good friends. Will you come with me?” her eyes were hopeful, and she was unconsciously rubbing one foot on the top of another, as if soothing future pain.

With a sigh, he gave a curt nod. She squealed and rushed out, probably to tell his mother the news.

His mother must have sensed something was wrong. He was cooped up in the house pouring over old accounts for almost three weeks. He wanted to go out, he really did. But he was dreading meeting the long haired and friendly stranger. Louis couldn’t pin point the cause, but he felt restless with that intense gaze upon him.

And those words. They were unsettling. His friends never talked to him like that, never complimented his _eyes_.

He shook his head, a dry chuckle escaping him at the ridiculousness of his own thoughts. Maybe he was just too wound up that he didn’t have friends close enough to compliment his eyes. He decided to fixate on that thought and closed the journal.

The numbers were still swirling around his head when he stepped out of the study and into his bed chambers…A quick nap and he would be ready to face the London rush.

...

Louis offered his arm to his sister as they made it into the ball room. The party was already lively, and he could see that the group were the friendly type, not obnoxious.

His sister left his side on finding a group of ladies whispering and giggling. Louis was left to fend for himself but not for long. His mother found him and beckoned him to where the hostess and her mother were.

“Anne, this is my son, Louis. Louis, this is my friend Anne and her daughter, Gemma.”

“Your Grace,” the two ladies curtsied. Louis took Anne’s hand first, dropping a kiss on her gloved hand, saying, “Louis would be fine. My mother talks about you so much, it’s almost like I’ve known you from my childhood.”

Taking Gemma’s hand and bending down to kiss, he said, “It’s a wonderful party, Lady Gemma.”

“That is very kind of you, but the person for whom this dance is being conducted in the first place is nowhere to be seen! He’s been all moody and upset,” Gemma said with a sigh.

“I’m worried,” Anne put in. “He’s been like that since a week, attending all balls and dances, and returning home, all weary and upset.”

“No need to worry others with your worries, Mother,” a man said from behind Louis, and he froze. “It’s not a matter of importance.”

Harry was standing by his side now, smiling at his mother in a charming way, and then slowly turning to him. He could see the exact moment Harry recognized him, his green eyes widening and his lips parting.

“This is the Duke of Wellington, Louis Tomlinson,” his sister said, with poorly disguised smugness in her voice, possibly because he accepted her invitation. “And this is my brother, Harry Styles.”

“Your Grace,” Harry bowed, a second too late, and hastily turned to their mothers. “I need to speak with the Duke on very important matters regarding…um…the parliament! Please excuse us,” he started to walk away, so Louis had no choice but to excuse himself and follow him. He heard Lady Anne’s confused whisper, “He is not in the parliament. What would he have to discuss?” followed by an equally confused, but nonetheless agitated voice of Harry’s sister, “They’ve met before? Harry met a Duke and didn’t tell me?”

They were on the far-side of the hall. Harry handed him a drink and smiled, “I thought I’ll never see you again. I’ve searched for you in every party, I—you do remember me, don’t you, Your Grace?”

“Please call me Louis, and I’ll call you Harry. I haven’t attended any social events after that Masquerade ball. I—I have been busy.” Louis took a quick sip of his wine.

“So, Duke. Didn’t expect that,” at Louis’ quick glare, he hastened to add, “I mean, most of them would be quick to boast about it. But you didn’t mention it.”

“Tired by all the attention it brings. You didn’t have any problem recognising me though,” Louis looked at him above the rim of his glass. Harry’s hair was flowing freely, reaching his shoulders in waves. Louis thought about it and couldn’t come up with any man in all his years with such long hair. At least, not ones who looked good with it. He quickly downed his wine.

“I did tell you I wouldn’t.”

They stayed quite for a long time, until a horde of mothers approached them and dragged them as politely as they could to the dance floor.

For the next hour or so, Harry would catch his eye whenever they passed each other during the waltz, and grin at him. His smile was infectious, and soon, Louis found himself searching for him in the crowded formation.

As guests began to dwindle, Louis caught Harry by the arm and excused them both from the company of a talkative Baron. He found a balcony door open and stepped into it.

He heard Harry chuckle and turned. “What?”

“This place looks eerily similar,” he said, sounding amused.

Louis looked around. They could see a garden, but it wasn’t filled with hyacinths. There were primroses, but the colours were difficult to make out. He looked up at the sky and the moon was obscured in dense clouds. He shivered as a particularly chilly wind blew. “The moon is missing though.”

“Is it?” Harry’s voice was a gently whisper. He tuned to his right to see Harry looking at him. His lips were pink, and then they were moving. And that means he was talking, which in turn implies Louis should pay attention. “--it’s fun, really. He is bad at it, but I’m better. We will be having a shooting game tomorrow, anyway. Would you like to join? You can see for yourself, it’s hilarious.”

Louis was really surprised. He didn’t expect the invitation, but it’s not like he should have warning bells ringing when he was extended a friendly invitation. He was nodding by the time he completed his thought process though, which, was bad.

“Great! Liam and I will meet you at noon?” Harry’s eyes were bright. And his whole face...it resembled a beautiful painting. He nodded again.

They parted with murmured greetings and a definite possibility that they will see each other soon.

...

Harry paced up and down, waiting for the message he had been dreading. He got up occasionally, at the smallest sound of the house butler, waiting for the response of a letter he specifically requested to be handed to him in person.

The clock chimed twelve when the haggard looking butler staggered in, trying to keep up a stoic expression while he handed in the sealed envelope.

“Thank you, I will make it up to you, I promise,” Harry smiled at him, quickly tearing open the letter.

“That is not necessary, sir,” the butler smiled, though a little strained due to exhaustion. “It is my job.”

“Still, thank you. I’ll get the cooks to bake cookies for your kids. They will enjoy them.” He dismissed the protesting butler and unfolded the letter. His face paled.

Liam was out of London. All the way in Scotland.

Harry crumpled the paper and looked at the high ceiling, trying to see past it, to the heavens. He didn’t understand what possessed him when he invited the Duke for a shooting game. Something about that person intrigued Harry, and he refused to consider the eyes because that is not what two gentlemen appreciate in one another.

Now, it is only going to be the two of them. And the Duke is sure to suspect that Harry has some ulterior motive, either business or political.

The clock showed five minutes past twelve when the footman announced the arrival of the said Duke at his doorstep. Apparently, he was the punctual kind. Noon meant noon.

Harry took a deep breath and plastered a smile as he went downstairs. Louis smiled at him, his eyes crinkling, and Harry no longer had to force his smile.

“Hello, Louis. I hope you didn’t have any difficulties on the way?” Harry asked, starting a polite conversation.

“Well, the floods on the way were too heavy to maneuver the carriage. But being the formidable Duke that I am, I managed,” Louis said in a dry voice as he let the footman take his coat.

Harry could only stare at him, unable to form a response. Louis chuckled. “Of course, I didn’t encounter any hurdles, Harry. My mother’s house is two lanes down.”

“I’ve never seen you around much, though,” Harry said, gesturing towards the garden. Louis fell in step with him.

He shrugged. “I’m always at my mansion, I try not to disturb my mother much.”

“I’m sure your mother is delighted by your company.”

“That’s what she always says. I assume you don’t come here often, either?”

“I prefer the solitude of my country estate. It’s small, but comfortable. Few families live around, and that too far enough not to be a bother, but close enough during emergencies.” Harry’s mind drifted to his modest suite of rooms, his garden, and the pond.

“You sound like a farmer,” Louis said with amusement in his voice.

“I doubt you’ve heard much farmers’ accounts, but you could say that. I have my whole garden and all, and with the help of Jason and his wife, I grow all kinds of vegetables and fruits.” Harry looked at Louis, who nodding with admiration, and preened a little.

“It sounds very peaceful.”

“Maybe you could visit one day.” And there it was. Harry was sure the connection to his brain and mouth was lost. Before he could backtrack, he saw Louis flash him a bright grin.

“I’d love that.”

Harry felt a strange tug at his stomach, but waved it off. A few suggestive words about Louis’ smile surfaced in his mind, but he stamped them down. He didn’t know what was happening, but he was sure he was going to be in trouble soon.

“So, where is Mr. Liam...?”

“Liam Payne,” Harry gulped. “is unfortunately unavailable. He had to go to Scotland...on an emergency.”

“Oh, is everything alright?” Louis eyebrows scrunched up, and his nose twitched. Harry had another jolt of pressure in his stomach. Placing his hand on his belly, he replied with a strained voice. “Fine. Fine, he’s fine.”

By the time they reached the shooting area, the targets were already in place. There were three of them with varying distance, and a line marked the point where they should stand. A small table held two hunting guns.

At the corner of the field there was a table with two cosy chairs. The maids arranged a few sandwiches in an artistic way. Harry’s stomach rumbled with hunger and he was glad Louis was a few steps ahead of him, examining the guns.

“I’m not very good at shooting,” Louis said as he took aim.

“It’s alright, I’m no expert—” Harry’s words died down when Louis’ shot hit the target, only missing the center by half an inch.

“You said you weren’t any good!” Harry exclaimed. Louis turned to him with a shocked, but pleased, expression.

“Oh, thanks. My father always said that I’m bad at it because I couldn’t hit the dead center every time.” Louis abruptly stopped, as though he said something he hadn’t meant to share.

Harry respected his discretion and didn’t discuss the matter any further.

Harry, true to his words, was no expert. In fact, there were only a few times me managed to graze the red. Louis was struggling to control his laughter, but was miserably failing.

After one particularly bad shot by Harry—which wasn’t his mistake! The light hit Louis’ profile perfectly as he stood with his hands on his hip and he had been distracted—Louis bent over laughing, his hands braced on his knees.

“Say, if I shoot the Duke of Wellington, what would happened?” Harry said in a mock threatening tone.

“Well, the title would go to my three-year-old brother, but that’s hoping too much. After seeing your... _struggle_ , it would take you a few tries to get me. By which time, mine wouldn’t miss,” Louis said. He was smiling and his eyes were bright.

“Really, there is no need to start a duel. Calm down,” Harry said, placing his gun down. Louis came closer to do the same.

When Harry looked at him, Louis was already watching him with a bright smile, and his hand made his way to Harry’s cheek. Harry felt his breath hitch as the finger slowly traced his cheek where his dimple would appear.

“I wouldn’t shoot you, don’t worry. I don’t want the world to miss such...” Louis looked like he was searching for the right word. Harry didn’t care though. If Louis didn’t take his hand off, Harry would die due to lack of breath. “...adorable dimples.”

Harry just kept staring as Louis let his hand fall to his side. He let out a chuckle and the crinkles beside his eyes appeared. “It’s weird calling a grown man adorable, is it not?” he asked, tilting his head a little.

But Harry wasn’t listening. His heart was beating too fast and he had an unfathomable urge to draw the man in front of him into a tight embrace and never let him go.

Louis’ smile disappeared, replaced by a frown.

“Are you alright? You are sweating, Harry.” The concern was evident in his blue eyes, and suddenly, Louis placed a hand on his forehead.

Harry could see him up close now. The freckles on his cheeks, the pursed pink lips, and the wide blue eyes. He could feel heat radiating from the palm of his hand. And then it struck him.

As fast as a lightening, no sound but only a flash of realization. Harry Styles was falling in love. With Louis Tomlinson. The Duke of Wellington. A  _man_.

_Maybe I’m just tired?_  He thought bleakly. He looked at the worried man in front of him. He could get used to waking up with those features, soft and plaint, right next to him, every morning.

His last thought was of brushing the soft fringe away from Louis’ forehead as he slept peacefully right next to him, his last vision was of Louis’ eyes widening with worry, and his last emotion was panic, before everything went blissfully blank.

...

When Harry came to his senses, he saw his mother sitting on a chair beside him, a wet towel in her hand.

“Oh, Harry, dear, how are you feeling now?” she placed a hand on his forehead, and Harry got flashbacks of a man doing the same, his delicate fingers made the touch feel like caressing. He gave out a dry laugh. What a strange dream it had been. Filled with a man, so beautiful that he fell in love! Ha!

A knock on the door was heard and a head peaked in saying, “I hope I’m not intruding, I just wanted to make sure Harry is fine.” and that musical voice took Harry’s breath away. Maybe he was still dreaming? But then, those piercing blue eyes locked with his, and his lips twitched like they were about to turn up, into a smile.

“Don’t!” Harry’s hand shot up, shielding his face like that would keep all the trouble at bay. If Louis—Duke. He will call him Duke from now on. If he smiled, Harry was doomed.

“I think he is still light headed,” his mother said, “If it is alright, Louis, come tomorrow in the evening? You can try our cook’s chocolate cookies. He is the best.”

When did his mother and the Duke become such good acquaintances?

“I’d love that, Anne.”

They were on first name basis!

“Take care, Harry.” His voice was so angelic, it made goosebumps erupt on his arms. He closed his eyes with a barely contained groan. He was in so much trouble.

 …

Harry’s mind was cleared by the time he woke up again. It was almost dawn, the sun slowly crawling its way into the sky. The view was nice, but not as breathtaking as the lake in the countryside. By the lake, the colours that reflected in the waves made the water look like hundreds of crystals thrown around. He missed home. But going back to that place, and being alone, without another person seemed a little unimpressive for the first time in years.

He rubbed his face with his hands roughly, berating himself for acting foolish the other day. It was all because he didn’t eat properly, and the lack of sleep too.

Louis was an attractive man and would catch people’s eye. He had a weirdly mixed aura of authority and kindness that drew everyone in. And he stupidly named it love! That’s impossible.

Not impossible, though. He heard a few whispers during his college days, how two boys were caught in an intimate situation. He shuddered thinking about the fate of those boys, his hand flying to his throat, feeling a rope tightening there.

He abruptly got up, his eyes stinging.

It was not impossible. But unacceptable.

...

Harry spent all day in preparation to facing the Duke. He made up a few rules too.

First, he was not to stare at the blue eyes for longer than a few seconds considered appropriate. Second, he was not to look at his profile, however tantalizing it may be. If, by mistake, he was to look, he will not be picturing him any other way than strictly platonic. And lastly, he should try to rile him up. Surely an angry duke would quell all the love.

_Love_.

It felt like such a deep word. Powerful. Was meeting a person thrice enough to feel so strongly about them? Probably not. But what did he know? If the skip of his heart beat at the mere presence of the person was not love, then surely the wrenching of his heart at thought that it was never possible to be with them was.

He decided to stop thinking about it, occupy himself with something of interest. He looked out of his window and saw his mother’s gardener struggling with a shovel. He made up his mind and walked down to help the old gardener plant springstars.

And if the flowers were the exact shade of the Louis’ eyes and if he spent the entire morning thinking about them…none the wiser.

By the time Harry got up from the dirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and hands caked with mud, it was late afternoon. The gardener—Anthony—was glowing with happiness although he blanched when Harry said he would help him. Waving a hand, he walked towards the kitchen to wash his hands.

“You made your gardener immensely happy, if that missed your notice.” Harry jumped, and prayed to God that the shriek he let out was his imagination. It was not as Louis, casually leaning on a wall with a nice view of the gardens, was smirking.

“How long have you been here?” Harry asked, his voice breathy. God, he looked beautiful. With his tan skin and bright eyes—Harry averted his gaze.

“Long enough to gather that you love to get your hands—and breeches—dirty. And that you have no qualms working with your servants,” Louis said, walking by him. Harry reached the fountain and washed his hands. It sprayed all over his shirt, but he was going to change it anyway.

“Do you have any qualms working with your servants?” Harry asked.

“No. But we don’t have much in common. Me and my secretary have a drinking game most of the time. But I don’t think it counts, we’ve been friends during college.”

Harry chuckled and turned around. “I’m sure being a Duke has a different protocol.”

“If by protocol, you mean expectations, then yes,” Louis’ eyes looked him up and down, and Harry resisted the urge to squirm. When Louis’ eyes met his again, their colour seemed darker. “You are wet.”

“Acute observation, Your Grace.” Harry bowed. Louis scoffed.

“I’ll be with Lady Anne. Join us after you make yourself presentable.”

“I have to dress myself to appease you?” Harry raised an eyebrow.

Louis levelled him with another intense gaze and said, “This would please me well enough.”

Harry’s eyes bugged out as he stared at Louis, heat rising to his cheeks. Louis’ eyes slowly widened, probably realising what he said.

“I—I didn’t mean...” he took a deep breath. “You are a menace,” he huffed and walked back to the drawing room, leaving harry flustered and confused.

...

Harry looked at himself in the mirror, brushing his hair this way and that. It just didn’t feel right. He rolled his eyes at his reflection. He was just going to meet Louis in his house. It’s not like he is going to a social gathering. He doesn’t need to dress up.

Huffing, he pulled his hair into a loose bun, adjusted his blue scarf around his neck. Thinking better of it, he removed it and replaced it with a blue silk cravat.

He winced as he peeked into his closet. He recently did some shopping, and the shades of blue were overshadowing all the other colours. He swore to buy more grey shades.

Just like the stormy colour Louis’ eyes reflected when he looked at him, near the fountain. He shook himself to get rid of the shivers and walked out.

“Oh, Harry! Are you going out, dear? I hope you haven’t forgotten that I invited the Duke.” His mother gave him a disapproving look. Gemma’s eyebrows raised to her hairline, giving him a full sweep.

Louis was turned the other way around in the chair, but hearing the ladies speak, he turned around. He immediately shot out of his chair, knocking his knees to the table in front of him.

“Oh, are you okay, Louis?” His mother asked, worry creasing his eyes. But Louis wasn’t paying attention to her. He was looking at him, his lips slightly parted.

Harry couldn’t help the smirk that took over his face as he made his way towards them. He stopped right in front of Louis, giving him a wide smile. “Are you okay?”

“Huh...what?” his voice was rough. Harry swallowed, held captive by the intense look on Louis’ face.

“You hit your knee to the table.”

Louis winced at that, belatedly saying a low ‘ow.’ His eyes were fixed on Harry’s cravat. “Are you dressed to impress?” Louis asked, eyebrow arched.

Harry blushed and cleared his throat. He looked at his mother and sister, who were looking at them, expressions perplexed.

“I didn’t forget, mother,” he took a step back, and his lungs seemed to thank him for that. “We, me and Louis, planned to go out, though.”

“We did?” Louis whispered, his mouth curving into a smile. He silently prayed that he would play along. It would me mortifying to explain why he went overboard with his outfit. His sister would never stop teasing him. His mother would be horrified.

“Oh, Louis didn’t say anything,” Gemma said, narrowing her eyes at Harry.

Harry spluttered, but Louis swooped in to save him. “It completely flew out of my mind. You two ladies are better company in the whole London, aside from my own family. It was so easy to get engrossed in our conversation.”

Harry thought Louis was going a little overboard with it. But one look at his pleased looking sister and pink faced mother spoke the opposite. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Just what he needed, for Louis to be charming his family along with him.

“We better get going!” Harry briskly walked away, waiting for Louis as he exchanged pleasantries.

They were silent for a long time, walking along the London road. The houses thinned out, there weren’t many people in that part of the city. He slowed down his steps after the third time Louis huffed, muttering about stupid tall people. Harry again had the weird feeling that he could get used to the company. Just being with Louis, talking about everything and nothing.

“So, where are we going?” Louis’ voice brought him out of his thinking. He looked around and they were, he realised, not anywhere he recognized.

“Um...I don’t know...” Harry looked at Louis. He was looking up at the sky. Harry had a sudden urge to run the tips of his fingers along his neck.

“It looks like it mught rain. Really, just two hours ago, the sun was shining bright, and now this?” Louis tutted, as if disapproving the sky’s behaviour.

Harry smiled, feeling warmth pool in his stomach though it was cold outside. “It wasn’t that sunny.”

“Anyway,” he almost looked on the verge of whining, “let us go to some place with a roof on our head. It’s cold, and I don’t know where we are.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You don’t?” his voice sounded meek, even to his own ears.

“No. I haven’t been this way before,” he looked at Harry, and immediately narrowed his eyes. “Harry, I followed you here.”

A drop fell on Louis’ nose, and Harry decided it wouldn’t end well if he tried to wipe it away. “I wasn’t thinking about where I was going.”

“Please tell me this is a joke,” Louis’ voice was pitched a little high.

“What? This is as much your mistake as mine. You have been to London quite a lot more than me...” the argument seemed weak even to Harry. He regretted saying that immediately when Louis’ eyes flared with anger.

“That does  _not_  mean I have been to every street in London!”

Harry held his hands up in a calming gesture. “Let us ask someone...”

“Someone who?” he ground out, sweeping his hand towards the road. Finally, Harry paid attention to their surroundings. They were alone in an abandoned part of the city, a house was half burned, probably some fire accident, and there were trash cans. The streets were deserted. A stray cat or two seemed to glower at them from behind the walls.

“Oh God...how did we get here?”

“By walking.” Louis’ voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“I’m sorry, I really wasn’t paying attention.” It was drizzling now. He could feel the droplets of water dripping from his hat’s corner.

“It’s alright,” Louis sighed, looking around. “Let us walk back this street. We will surely meet someone and then, we can ask for directions.”

Harry nodded. But he barely registered the idea. He was thinking about how making Louis angry was a bad idea. He was already missing the heat that brightened Louis’ eyes. That man looked so powerful and dangerous when he was angry, the set of his jaw...Harry was not in the least finding it repulsive. On the contrary, his body was reacting in a traitorous manner.

“Do you always not pay attention and drift off to your own world?” Louis’ voice snapped him out of his revere.

“So—sorry.”

“Come on,” Louis said, aiming for exasperated, but a smile was tugging at his lips. He took Harry’s arm and pulled him forward.

They walked briskly and were out of the lonely street. But now, it was pouring and there weren’t many people out. They saw a carriage and called out. It was empty and the coachman told them that they walked quite a long distance in the opposite direction of where they were supposed to be going.

“Please let me take you to the nearest inn, sirs,” the coachman yelled over the sound of heavy rain. “You can arrange a ride after the rain gets somewhat bearable. It is very dangerous to travel right now.”

The two men looked at each other, and with quick nods, decided that it was the best course of action.

The carriage was a small one, and Harry had to fit his long legs in an awkward position. Louis was trying to disguise his laugh in a cough, but it only works for so long.

“Pardon me, but this was made for one person, that too a lady. It may be a tight fit,” the coachman’s voice reached them like he was talking from a pit.

“It is alright. Thank you very much for your assistance,” Louis said.

The road was bumpy and their arms and thighs were touching. Harry was thinking about all the possibilities that would make the man sitting next to him less attractive.

He turned to the side to look at what he was doing. Louis had his hat in his hand and was pushing the slightly wet hair away from his face. He glanced at Harry, his hand midway in his hair, and eyebrows arched up.

Harry groaned as he hid his face in his hands. “You may as well challenge me to a duel.”

...

“I apologize for the delay,” the coachman was followed by an old man. “It is already late, and the storm only seems to get worse. I will be here early tomorrow morning.”

Harry barely registered the fact that he won’t be going home that night. His mother would be worried.

He saw Louis in his peripheral vision paying the coachman and the Inn’s owner. He came back to Harry and said casually, “The inn is full, but they managed to vacate one room. He says it is small though. Will it be alright?”

Harry swallowed, his stomach convulsing. “You are the Duke.”

Louis laughed and said with a dazzling smile, “I’ll manage.”

The room was small. It was a suite with a giant bed and a dressing room, but that’s it. There wasn’t any sofa. Only a chair.

Harry thought about the neck crick he was going to suffer the next morning because there is no way he’d be sleeping on the same bed as Louis Tomlinson.

He froze when Louis emerged from the dressing chamber, only wearing breeches. He scowled when he looked at Harry. “You will catch a cold in those wet clothes.”

Harry gave a non-committal nod, an embarrassing whimper—which he covered up with a cough—and rushed into the adjoining room, slamming the door shut.

By the time he stepped out into the room, his hair out of his bun and down his shoulders, there were three large trays of food. Bread, butter, cheese of many kinds, fruits, and cakes...it was like a miniature high society dinner party. Louis was devouring a cucumber sandwich, making appreciative noises.

“You told them you are a Duke.”

“I may have let it slip, yes,” he said with a mouthful.

Harry chuckled and joined him on the bed, tasting the food. Soon, he let go of all finesse, shoving the food in large chunks, and even licked his fingers.

“Is that any way to eat in front of royalty?” Louis said, voice dripping with judgement. But when Harry looked up at him, his mouth full and cheeks bulging, he was biting his lip, trying not to laugh.

“’Eyy,” he took a large gulp of wine from his goblet, swallowing the food down. “We are sitting on a bed, half-dressed, while there is a storm raging outside. I think you can excuse my clumsiness.”

“Is the storm making you nervous, Harry?” Louis had a mischievous glint in his eyes. Louis wiped his hand on a towel and pushed the tray away. The light from the candles was dim, the curtains drawn, and the ease with which Louis was lying next to him on his stomach, his chin on his crossed hands, looking at him...Harry’s chest tightened. This had been his dream for the past two days, just them lying next to each other.

“I’m nervous, yes, but not because of the storm.” Harry bit his lip when Louis frowned. He stood up, clearing the bed and placing the trays in the outer room. He slowly made his way into the bed chambers.

Louis was on his back, hands folded on his chest. His head was thrown back, shoulders at the edge of the bed. He was looking at Harry, the frown was replaced by a more seriously understanding expression.

Harry’s throat had gone dry. It was too enticing a picture and he took a staggering step backwards.

“Come here, Harry,” Louis said, his voice soft. As Harry walked there, Louis sat up, following his every move.

They were sitting cross-legged on the bed facing each other, only a foot gap between them. Louis took a deep breath and said, “I kissed a boy once.”

And Harry stopped breathing. He had so many questions. His mind was moving at a pace similar to his racing heartbeat. He opened his mouth and closed it, once, twice.

“Let me finish,” Louis said, holding up his palm. His voice was still soft, but strained. “I—I had weird feelings that I wanted to kiss him, just like I felt with few girls. I was in college, and he found out, somehow. Said it was clear in my eyes.” He chuckled, looking at Harry meaningfully.

Harry flushed red, cursing himself for not being cautious enough. Subtle enough.

“What happened then?” he asked with a small voice.

“He said it will go away if I kissed him,” Louis said with a shrug. “And it did. It didn’t feel any different than kissing a girl. I actually didn’t like his beard stinging my chin.”

Harry wanted to throw up. He was sure it wouldn’t go away, not if he kissed Louis, not if he slept with him, not even if he married him. Because he loved this man. The man who was looking at him with a worried expression, offering to kiss him.

But in some corner of his heart, he wanted to get rid of this pain. This weight over his chest that he can’t have something he wanted so much. Maybe he was right. Maybe it will go away.

Maybe he just wanted to kiss Louis so badly, he would agree to the ridiculous idea.

He gave a jerky nod. Louis frowned. “Are you sure, Harry? I mean—”

Harry got up on his knees and moved closer to Louis. He stopped talking and looked up at him. Harry’s chest was hurting with how much he wanted this. “Please let me kiss you,” he whispered.

Louis’ eyes widened. “Okay,” he said in an equally low whisper.

Harry’s palm found its way to Louis’ cheek. His thumb moved along his jaw and he dipped down.

Harry wanted to be gently but he simply couldn’t. As soon as his plump lips met Louis’ soft ones, he lost it. He swiped his tongue at Louis’ sealed lips. They opened slightly on a gasp and his tongue wormed his way in.

He could feel Louis’ warm palms clutching his arms. Harry placed his other hand on Louis’ neck and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

Louis made a noise, somewhere between a groan and a whimper. Harry pulled back when Louis’ nails dug into his biceps hard enough to make him wince.

They were still close enough that he could see Louis’ eyes. They were almost black, just a sliver of bluish gray surrounding the darkness. He had to force himself not to drop a kiss to his temple, his nose, his cheeks...everywhere.

Louis cleared his throat and looked at him. “Did it go away?” he said with a slight smile.

It was like a splash of cold water to Harry’s face. He wanted to scream that no, no it didn’t. He still loved the man, if not more than before. He wanted to feel those soft lips against his again. And again.

His eyes filled with tears and this time, he couldn’t do anything to stop them from falling on his cheeks. Louis’ hand came up to his face but he jerked away. He quickly moved away, struggling to breathe.

One look at Louis’ stricken face, and he knew he would burst out if he didn’t tell him. But he knew he couldn’t do it. So, he did the next best thing. Harry leaned for another kiss. Then another. Quick pecks, not giving Louis a chance to catch his lips with his. He didn’t trust himself to ever fall out of the intense feelings if he did that.

“It—it’s not,” another kiss, “going,” a sight brush of tongue, “away.”

When he backed away, he saw Louis’ eyes widen and his mouth drop open. His vision blurred and he sprinted to the door before he did something more stupid. He slammed it shut behind him, ignoring the strangled voice that called his name, “Harry...”

...

**3 rd December 1821**

Louis looked at the bustling chapel. His mother was talking rapidly to some maids, instructions sharp and urgent. He had his sister by his side, their arms linked together. She was looking beautiful in her wedding dress. She was nervously adjusting her veil from time to time. He gave her hand a slight squeeze. She looked up with bright eyes and gave him a wobbly smile.

“I think I’m going to have a breakdown,” Charlotte whispered, taking unsteady breaths.

“No, you are not. You are going to go there and look pretty and confident. You are going to say your vows and marry the person you fell in love with. Chin up.” Louis immediately saw the change at the mention of love. Her smile widened and she gave a decisive albeit shaky nod.

They started walking towards the altar. Something in Louis’ chest tightened. His little sister was getting married! He watched as his mother’s eyes brightened with tears upon looking at them. He gave her a reassuring smile.

He stood there, barely paying attention to the proceedings and watching his other sisters. They were whispering enthusiastically to each other, even though his mother attempted to shush them many times.

His eyes drifted to the pews, taking in the groups of guests and, suddenly, he felt his stomach give a sharp tug. Bright green eyes were watching him, and when he caught his sight, a tentative smile.

Louis was taken, quite against his will, back to that night. The sound of his laugh and the soft press of lips. The hurt in his eyes and the words he didn’t have an answer for. The tears and the abrupt emptiness in his chest.

He left London the next day, spewing some nonsensical excuses to his family. Though his sisters pestered him with questions, his mother stood there, silently contemplating him. He was thankful for that. He was never good at lying to her.

Life went on with a few months of sleepless nights and every minute spent re-evaluating himself. Days reliving the same anxiety he felt during his teenage years. The guilt that he was letting his father’s expectations fall lower. Knowing that he will never be able to love a woman with his whole heart.

As he failed to look away from the man, looking sad and hurt, his feelings of that night returned too. There was no way he didn’t want to kiss Harry and he gave in to the temptation. Thought it was just that. A simple attraction. A simple kiss.

_It’s not going away_.

The words reverberated in his brain, again and again. He looked away sharply, unable to breathe. He could feel the piercing gaze of Harry Styles and knew it wasn’t the easy way out this time.

...

Louis always thought that the Tomlinson Mansion in London was too big for its own good. If he couldn’t find his way to the reception, he had no hope for their guests. Probably no one would wander so far inside their house anyway.

After the third wrong hallway, he gave up. His legs were killing him, and he had no break from socialising and entertaining all the old people, politely getting away from prospective mothers-in-law. With a sigh, he opened the door to the patio. He closed the glass doors and turned around, only for his heart to fall into his stomach.

Harry was standing there, looking startled, but also relieved. Louis was at a loss of words. Luckily, Harry started talking first, “Good evening. Um...nice reception, but I can’t find my way back. I was looking for men’s room, and I have no idea how I ended up here. Well...”

He was shifting from one foot to another, but determinedly making eye contact. Louis opened his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘Thanks for attending my sister’s wedding and reception.’ or ‘It’s been long, how are you?’, but what came out was, “You cut your hair.”

Harry’s eyes widened. He touched his hair, swept up and curling slightly at his ears. “Y—yeah.”

Louis put his face in his hands and gave a tired laugh. “Please don’t mind me. I’m just...tired.”

“I can understand why. You’ve either been talking or giving out orders all morning through evening. I was like that at my sister’s wedding too. But maybe not as much helpful as getting in the way, because, well—I was young,” he said, a hand on his chest, sounding defensive. Louis couldn’t help it. He laughed out loud, moving closer. He missed him.

Louis realised that he said that out loud when he saw that Harry was frozen in place, his eyes shining in the moonlight. His throat bobbed as he swallowed and Louis had to look away. He didn’t know how it was possible, but Harry looked more beautiful than before. Maybe it was the moonlight and lips bitten red. Maybe it was just Harry and his feelings for him, as simple as that.

Harry started to speak again. “I—I apologise. I left without a word. It was immature. I needed time to sort my feelings out, so I went back home. Did some gardening and talked to few friends. Everything is fine now. I’m totally in control of my emotions.” Harry’s eyes and frantic expression was in sharp contrast to his words.

Louis felt an unexpected flare of anger, tinted with sadness. He crossed his arms tightly and levelled the other man with a death glare. “All sorted out, yes? No more stray feelings? No more...I don’t know, ‘please let me kiss you’s” he spat, shocked at the level of venom in his words. But he held his ground. Somehow, Harry being free from all the feelings, leaving Louis hanging somewhere unfamiliar, put him on edge.

Harry’s uncertain face cleared and was filled with complete rage. His eyes darkened, nostrils flared, and he widened his stance. Louis felt a thrill as he saw his words have some effect.

“Why? You look like you would rather have me pining after you? Or is it a way of saying you want to kiss me? You have confused emotions raging inside you?” Harry said. His voice was rough, deep with hurt. “Do you feel like you can’t close your eyes because the same fantasy keeps filling your mind? Of having something you want so much, with all your heart, but knowing you can’t? Staying up all night long, looking out of the window and wondering if you are at least a stray thought in their life?”

Harry moved closer now, and Louis felt his breath catch as he dropped his head to Louis. Their foreheads were touching, and their breaths were mingled. Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Are you feeling hopeless? Like, even though there may be a chance of two hearts willing to be together, they will be pried apart? Are you scared and fighting back tears, but still failing to let it go? Because I am. I can’t let go. I don’t _want_ to let go.”

Louis felt dampness on his cheeks. Whose tears they were didn’t matter to him as much as it did to pull Harry by the neck and to lock their lips together. Their noses bumped, but then Harry tilted his head sideways, and they were perfectly slotted. They just pressed their lips together, not moving, breathing raggedly.

Louis pulled back slightly to say, “Neither can I.”

They kissed then, like the first time. Louis could feel his world coming apart, somewhere a part of him was screaming at him to run the other way. But when Harry’s arms came around his waist, shaking hands gripping him hard, he knew he wasn’t the only one fighting a battle with himself.

Louis knew which side he wanted to win that time. He let him go once, he wouldn’t do it again.

...

By the time they found their way down to the reception, the guests were already clearing out. Louis smiled as it took him back to the first time they met. He was startled into the present time when he heard his mother’s exasperated voice. “Darling, I was worried that some old businessman kidnapped you.”

He looked up to see a smiling Lady Anne, and a bright-eyed Lady Gemma staring at him. He nodded politely but couldn’t will himself to look them straight in the eye. He just kissed one’s son and the other’s baby brother, oh lord.

He smiled at his mother and quickly made up a lie. “I was talking to Harry, mother. The gardens at his country house are simply marvelous. Well, at least that’s what he says. We talked of flowers and other business...matters,” he trailed off. He should’ve known better. He could never lie to his mother before, and it wasn’t working this time either.

“When did you take a liking towards gardening, dear?” she asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“Since I started talking about it. You should agree, Johannah, that I can make talking about plants interesting,” Harry said with a cheeky smile.

His mother just laughed. Lady Anne walked towards them. “Are you coming home, Harry? Our carriage is waiting.”

Harry’s eyes flicked to his, and Louis immediately busied himself with fixing his cravat. “I actually thought I should check Louis’ records of their estates. He said he’d help me manage mine. Who’s a better teacher than a Duke?”

“What estates?” Lady Gemma narrowed her eyes. “You have a country house and a moor.”

“It’s an _orchid_ , and yes, an estate needs managing however small it maybe. Won’t you agree Louis?”

Louis made a non-committal sound, his mind reeling.

“Leave him alone, Gemma. It was a lovely ceremony, dear,” Anne said to his mother, and they walked out.

“Well, I’ll leave you gentlemen to your business. I should go give Charlotte _the talk_ ,” she said, looking pained as she went up the stairs.

“Um, so—” Louis started, but fell silent when he felt a hand at his lower back.

“Lead the way to your study, will you?” Harry said, colour high in his cheeks. “For the records, of course.”

“O—of course.”

 Louis could hear his heart thumping in his ears. Harry's footsteps felt sure and unwavering behind him. It felt like Harry knew what he was doing, and Louis was sure he was going to make a fool of himself. They reached his study and he opened the doors with shaky fingers.

'so much for the graceful Duke,' he thought, and nodded to Harry to go in first. Though Louis closed the door softly, it reverberated through the room. Harry was studying the wide range of books on his massive bookshelf, running a finger along the spines.

He turned towards Louis with his finger held up, which was covered in a thin layer of dust, and eyebrow raised.

"Well, as you happened to notice, I rarely read the books in this study. It's been too long," Louis said with a shrug, sitting in one of the two chairs on the guests’ side of his table.

"The maids don't clean them?"

"I... I don't let them. This study was my father's. He--" Louis felt like he was sharing way too much. He looked up and saw the soft expression of Harry, a slight smile encouraging him to continue. Louis took a deep breath and started to speak. "He used to clean his bookshelf himself. And when I was five or something, he let me in his study and we did it together. Took out each book, dusted the shelves, and he sometimes read me a few stories." Louis chuckled, remembering how his father made him try and read difficult words. He always fumbled and stammered, his father always gave him an exasperated but fond look.

Until the fondness stopped and exasperation turned to disdain.

"When did he...?"

"It was a month after the birth of Ernest and Doris. He had a heart stroke. Peaceful, they said."

Harry was by his side immediately, sitting in the chair beside him and holding his hand in his. "Sorry. You loved him a lot, didn't you?"

Louis gave out a hallow laugh. "Actually, not much. He was a nice person, maybe, but not a good father. At least, not for long. He was happy with my attitude and appearance till I was fourteen. And then, he said I wasn't masculine enough. He made me learn all the things that men did. Tried to make me appear more...fierce? I don't know, Harry, he started having problem with everything that was me. He said I didn't carry myself like a man, whatever that meant. This..." Louis waved his hand around the room. "this room is the only place I have a few good memories with him."

"I'm sorry, love."

Louis smiled at the endearment. "Call me that again."

"Love." Harry said with a smile, bringing his hand to his lips. He peppered the back of Louis' hand with light kisses. Louis felt like he was floating away, and he held on to Harry's hand tight, keeping himself grounded.

He was suddenly pulled forward and he landed in Harry's lap, sprawled and red faced. "Harry!"

Harry gave him a devilish grin. "What is it, Your Grace? Is the seat not royal enough for you?"

A surge of arousal and bravery pulsed through Louis' veins and he firmly gripped Harry's thighs. "Maybe a little too perfect, Mr. Styles."

"You only deserve the very best," Harry whispered, pulling Louis closer to him by his neck. Louis got more comfortable on Harry's lap, and their lips met with heat and passion. The room was getting hot, and Louis was getting hotter in his clothes. As if reading his mind, Harry pulled at his shirt, whining into his mouth.

"Just so you know," Harry said, once their lips parted. "I have no idea what I am doing."

Louis gave a startled laugh at that. "I thought you did! You looked so confident."

"I can assure you I'm shaking on the inside."

Louis' expression softened. He cupped Harry's cheek in his hand and kissed his sweetly, slowly, deeply.

"It's just me, love. Let's get out of our clothes first," he said with a wink. Harry squirmed to get up, and Louis got up from his lap, laughing. He was feeling lighter than he had felt in years. The pressure he felt a few minutes ago was nowhere. Only an urgency to feel, see, touch, and taste.

He got out of his clothes, shivering in the coldness even with the hearth in the study burning hot. Louis heard a sharp intake of breath from behind him and a whispered, “Come closer…please.”

Louis turned to see Harry, standing in the middle of his study, naked and glowing. His pupils were black with a ring of green. Louis stood there, frozen, mesmerized by the sight. Harry was beautiful. The soft smooth skin and everlasting legs and the shy smile. Everything about him was a wonder, and Louis was awestruck.

A whine was all the warning he got before he was pulled forward, desperate lips on his. He gripped Harry by the hips, kneading the soft flesh there. Harry’s hands where everywhere on his body, making him sweat even in the shivering night.

Harry bent down to kiss his neck, scraping his teeth on his skin. There was static in Louis’ ears, his heartbeat the only thing he could hear. He threw his head back, biting his lip when he felt Harry’s knuckles graze his lower stomach. Harry’s lips moved to his ear, nipping at it.

“Can I?” he asked.

“Do whatever you want to,” Louis said. He was breathless, and his voice came out as a rasp. Harry must have liked it because his grip on Louis’ hip tightened. The other hand moved lower, gripping him with a loose fist. Louis groaned low in his throat. “Harry.”

Louis cleared his head a little, just enough to move his hand towards Harry’s cock. His hand hit Harry’s, and they both laughed, albeit a little breathless. But the laughter died down immediately when Louis got his palm around him. “Louis, I…”

They moved their hands at the same time. It was a little awkward at first, but then they found the right rhythm. It was dry and harsh, but Louis felt like he was in heaven. His nerve endings felt like they were short circuiting. The sounds Harry was making were filthy, and it made Louis hurtle towards the edge. With a strangled sound, he released all over Harry’s hand.

When he was still feeling floaty, he felt wetness on his own hand, and he moved his hand a little slower. Harry was shaking in his arms, but so was he.

He felt everything crashing down on him, but he didn’t feel like it was weighing him down, but rather like wrapping itself around him like a protective layer. It was the love he felt for the man in his arms, the bright green eyes looking at him with so much hope and wonder. A hope that he felt ignite inside him too. He felt tears cloud his vision and he collapsed to his knees, Harry along with him, arms still wrapped around each other tightly.

It was much later when Louis managed to extract himself reluctantly from Harry’s warm embrace and put some clothes on. He threw Harry’s on his head, who jutted his bottom lip out but obediently pulled his trousers on.

“Is it a sin?” he asked softly, walking closer to Harry and holding him securely from behind, his chest to Harry back. Harry leaned back and gripped Louis’ forearms. They watched the cloudy night sky, moon and stars peeking now and then for a long time.

“If people describe this feeling I have for you as a sin, I think they are being...ignorant, for a lack of better word,” Harry said with a humourless chuckle, but his grip on Louis’ arms tightened reflexively.

...

Louis was having a relatively good day. The adrenaline from the previous day settled and a sigh of content escaped him. Sipping his tea, he chuckled at the memory of Harry hiding from the maids and running out from the back of the kitchen. It brought a wave of heat along with it. He choked on his tea when laughter bubbled up again, some of it falling on his sleeve.

“What has you so amused and, dare I say, clumsy, darling?” his mother was standing at the patio door, smiling at him.

Louis cleared his throat and gave her an indulgent smile, “Happy that my devil of a sister has got a husband to target her absurdity at.”

His mother just shook her head, “The house is going to look...empty.”

“You have five more kids, mother. I am pretty sure Doris and Ernest will keep your days entertained.”

“A mother can always feel the absence of one of her kids, even though she has twenty of them,” she said. Her eyes watered, and Louis immediately handed her a handkerchief. She thanked him and dabbed her eyes. “Don’t mind me, dear. Tell me what are your plans? Are you going to run off to Wellington, or will you grace us with your presence for a little while longer?”

“I will be staying if it is alright with you,” Louis said, an involuntary smile brightening his face. He and Harry planned to meet that evening, at far side of London. He said there was an abandoned building, the one where they wandered off to before, so they could have some privacy.

“What has caught your eye in London? Or is it a who?” Louis blushed at those words, eyes widening with panic. “I haven’t seen you with a young lady recently.” His mother was mumbling to herself about the ladies that may have caught his eye. His heart twisted, his eyes burned as he resisted the urge to hug her tight and talk all about it.

“I have to go. Please take rest. You’ve stressed yourself way too much for the wedding to be doing all this thinking.” And before she could say anything else, he walked out to the hallway, calling for his coat.

…

By the time Louis reached the building, the sun was low in the horizon, making the sky a canvas of orange shades. Harry was lounging on the outer wall. He was wearing a royal blue coat and seemed to radiate a shine of his own.

He walked towards him, grudgingly noting that there was an almost _skip_ in his step. Harry looked up at the sound of his footsteps, and gave a wide smile.

“I think those dimples are illegal. They could give a person a heart failure,” Louis said. Harry immediately pulled him into his arms and nuzzled his nose in his neck.

“Do you think so? Then my all means, make me a prisoner of your heart,” Harry said with a grin and kissed him. Louis felt like it could never get old, being kissed by Harry like that. Being held by the man he loves, who loves him back.

“My mother asked me who the lucky lady was who made me so happy,” Louis said. Harry flinched a little, but recovered with a teasing smirk.

“I am making you happy? I have not felt this accomplished in a while.”

“You are making me more than happy.”

“Well, I did see there was a skip in your step, Your Grace.”

Louis groaned and when Harry had the audacity to giggle, he stopped it with a bruising kiss, biting Harry’s lip in retaliation.

“Ow!” Harry whined, but his eyes were bright, and cheeks flushed. His face softened as he gazed at Louis. He ran a fingertip from his temple to his cheekbones, running his thumb along his lower lip. “You are so…I don’t know how to describe you, Louis, but pretty or beautiful would fall way short.”

Louis snorted. There was a long stretch of silence as the darkness fell around them, and they were warm with arms wrapped around each other.

“Ethereal,” Harry whispered.

Louis just smiled, basking in the wonder he could hear in Harry’s words, and wondering how he got so lucky.

It was sometime past midnight when Louis untangled himself from Harry. They were lying on the grass of the unkempt garden on the back of the building. Louis shivered in the cold air. Apparently, only wearing Harry’s coat wasn’t an ideal apparel for the night. Harry seemed to think different if the heated gaze he was giving Louis was anything to go by. He was lying there, all stretched out and half naked, and it was a glorious sight.

With difficulty, Louis averted his gaze to the sky. The moon was bright and full, no clouds to obstruct the view that day.

“It means everything to you, doesn’t it…sharing this with your mother?” Harry asked.

Louis sighed and closed his eyes. “Yes. She is everything to me. She has always been proud of me and…”

“Tell her then,” Harry said. He looked serious, so Louis resisted the urge to laugh.

“And risk being disowned?”

“No. Risk being frowned upon, may be a disappointed look. But it may also mean having her approval. Having her to share your happiness. I want to tell my mother and my sister too. You are too important for me. This feeling is impossible to hide from them.”

“We will be risking a lot more than being disowned if the word gets out.”

“I am aware of that.”

A smile slowly crept up Louis’ face. He relaxed and resumed his position beside Harry. He felt like they were the only two in the whole city who were lying awake and dreaming the impossible.

One look at the man beside him gave him a glimmer of hope that, maybe, it won’t be a tragic ending after all. 

…

The sitting room was silent. The aroma of tea filled the air, but it wasn’t as relaxing as it always felt to Louis. He was tapping his fingers on his thigh, tea left unattended on the table, and fidgeting.

“Darling, stop the tapping and tell me what is bothering you,” his mother said with a sigh. She silently sipped the tea, looking at him calmly over the rim.

“Mother, I…,” Louis took a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he tried to grab the sliver of bravery he felt the day before, when he was with Harry. The thoughts of Harry flooded his mind and he smiled. His eyes fluttered open and when he saw his mother’s encouraging nod, the words fell out of his mouth easily. “Mother, I love Harry.”

His mother spluttered and put the cup of tea on the table. She looked at him with wide eyes and said, “You do love me, and your sister, and your friend Niall, and—”

He gulped his lukewarm tea and placed the cup on the table with a clatter. “No, mother. I am _in love_ with Harry. I want to live with him for the rest of my life. I love him like you loved father, maybe even more.”

Louis felt his neck prickle with heat, but stubbornly maintained eye contact. His mother was speechless for a long while, opening her mouth to say something but thinking better of it. Finally, she slumped in her chair, her shaking palms clutched at her knees and wrinkling her dress. He saw her eyes water and felt his heart break. He fought the emotions of his own and held his head down.

“I will understand if you cannot accept me as your son anymore. But hopefully I can talk the twins and my sisters, you cannot ask me to stay away from them, Mother—”

“Please shut up, darling, and look at me,” his mother said, and his head snapped up. His mother was looking at him with a kind expression that made him feel warm again. “You will always be my son, sweetheart, and my love for you will not change just because you fell in love with a man.”

Louis almost laughed with relief. He went and kneeled before her, and took her shaking hands in his. “I am so sorry, Mother. I didn’t know what to expect, I hoped that you will understand, but I wasn’t sure…”

“Darling, you have nothing to be ashamed of. You are in love with someone who loves you back and that’s the most beautiful thing in this world. But I regret that this must be a secret. You do understand that, right.”

He nodded with resignation. “Well,” he said with a shrug. “They are going to miss an epic love story. Their loss.”

…

Louis' smile widened as Harry animatedly explained his mother's reaction. As he had hoped, Harry's mother had accepted with teary eyes. But there was a lot of laughing, and then apologizing when she realised he wasn't joking.

"She felt so bad afterwards," Harry sighed, but the smile never left his face. "She was really scared though. Made me promise I'll be careful and let only the people we trust the most know about this."

Louis nodded and closed his eyes, taking in the scent of freshly cut grass. They were in the patio, in the bitter evening, with steaming cups of tea in their hands.

"Come with me," Harry said, suddenly serious.

"Where?"

"To my house. In the country. You were planning to go back to Wellington, were you not?"

"I was," Louis hesitated a little. "How much time are you talking about, Harry? A week-long vacation at your place, or is it something more?"

"I want everything with you Louis, so of course it is something more. I have a feeling you will like it there. So maybe consider this an invite to a week-long vacation, and you can decide there?" Harry's voice dropped from confident and excited to hopeful.

Louis reached out and ruffled Harry's hair. "Of course, I'll be happy to come with you. What else would I like more than having my arms and knees covered in mud as we tend to your gardens?"

The bright smile he got in return was more than enough to endure days of grime and, possibly, worms.

...  
One year into the future found Harry's and Louis' things all over Harry's modest abode in the country, mixed or replaced or added. There were portraits of the Tomlinson family along with portraits of Styles family. One of the biggest one was of all of them together. It took a lot of patience and time from the painter, and bribing of sweets to the kids for them to stay still.

Louis made the study room his office as Harry rarely used it. He let Niall handle most of the issues in the mansion, and visited every three months to make sure everything was in order, or to meet important people.

Niall was obviously surprised at first, but wished them both a happy future with a genuine smile and hug.

The people in Wellington started calling him a mystery man as people got to see him rarely and knew he didn’t live in the mansion. Together with Harry Styles was apparently not an accepted reply, so he let the mystery build up.

They were out in the sun, tending to the rose bushes when Harry turned to him, with mud streaks across his cheek, and hands covered in mud, and said, "Let's get married."

Louis was nodding, his cheeks hurting from smiling so wide, even before the words registered properly. He fell back with a yelp into the mud as Harry pounced at him to pepper his face with kisses. 

...

Harry heard Jonathan clear his throat and he looked up to see him fidgeting. He took a deep breath as Harry patiently waited, and relayed the message.

“Mr. Payne is here for a visit.”

Harry’s eyes widened and the pen fell out of his grip. He stood up, his hands on the table and the chair dragged on the carpet as it was pushed backward.

“I could tell him that you are not available and make sure—”

Jonathan stopped speaking as soon as he heard the clatter of the cup. They didn’t waste time as they headed down. There, in the drawing room, stood Louis, staring at the man standing in front of him, the porcelain cup was broken in two pieces near Liam’s feet. The tea was staining the carpet.

Their maid, Agatha, came in rushing. She didn’t pay attention to the obvious tension in the room, but gently asked Liam to step aside as she cleaned it.

Liam finally managed to turn away from Louis, who was looking at him with an eyebrow raised.

“You—Harry, you said in your missive that—that you were  _married_...” Liam looked at Louis again. He looked amused and Harry decided to make him pay for it that night. He was sweating and his shirt was too tight. Liam continued speaking, looking back and forth between the two. “You said you were living with  _them_ —of course, them!—and he, I should have suspected...” Liam trailed off, now looking a little red in the face.

He turned to look at Louis, making a haphazard bow. “Excuse me, Your Grace, I was a little...”

“Shocked?” Louis smiled, reassuringly.

“Surprised.” Liam’s lips twitched.

Harry relaxed and briskly walked to his friend, giving him a hug. His eyes burned when he felt Liam’s arms surround him, holding on tight.

“So,” Liam backed away a little, squeezing Harry’s arm. “You are a Duke now?” he looked so confused that Harry couldn’t help the burst of laughter that escaped him. He heard a chuckle from his husband.

“You will need something stronger than tea to listen to our tale.” Harry said. He felt Louis’ hand on his back, a warm presence. “Good thing I have the best wine.”

And by the time Liam left their home, he was beaming. With a promise to visit them again soon, he was on his way.

That night, as Harry and Louis lay in their bed, sweaty and exhausted, they looked at the peaking moon from the window of their bedchambers.

“I want to shout at the top of my voice that I love you,” Harry whispered, kissing his husband’s neck. Their hands were intertwined, the silver bands glistening in the moonlight. He was taken back to that magical day. His brother acted as their officiant and they got married, their two families as their only witnesses. The day was filled with laughter and tears, of promises and loved words.

“Well nobody will hear you except me, you, and the moon.”

“That’s all I ever wanted. But maybe...someday, people will be able to love who they want to love,” Harry said, sounding wistful, and nuzzled into Louis’ neck, breathing in his scent.

“Then I am sure we will meet again in such a world, love.”

...

**June 1st 2017**

“Harry, I need water!” Nick was insufferable, Harry decided. But he had to agree, they needed water. He looked around at the colourful parade on the street. Harry brought down his pastel coloured flag down as he caught a raven-haired man talking animatedly to another. Harry couldn’t see the other man, but he held a bottle of water in his hand.

Harry walked towards the duo, leaving his baying friend. “Excuse me?” the adonis of a man turned to look at him and harry was momentarily speechless. The photographer in him longed to pull his camera out and click away.

When the man lifted his eyebrow, he blushed hoping that he didn’t get any wrong idea.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” an amused voice said, and Harry’s head snapped to the other man. “Zayn has that effect on mortals.”

This time, Harry didn’t feel the need to take his camera out, but to drown in those sparkling eyes. His face was coloured in rainbow colours, in the form of a swirl starting from his nose.

Harry wanted to bop his nose. So, he did. He saw the gorgeous boy's mouth drop open, eyes wide and so beautiful.

“Looks like it’s not me that affecting him, Lou,” Zayn chuckled.

“Well, that was very forward of you...”

Harry kept staring, a smile breaking out.

“This is the part where you say your name,” the angel of a man said. He was sounding more amused than annoyed.

“I’m Harry. Harry Styles.”

“I’m Louis.” he extended his hand and Harry shook it with a wide grin.

“Shit Zayn, he has dimples!”

They turned to see Zayn talking to Harry’s friend, Nick, who was gulping down water.

“So, Harry,” Louis cleared his throat. “Would you like to grab a cup of coffee with me? After the parade, of course.”

“I’d love to,” Harry said, mentally jumping up and down.

“I will wash the colours off my face by then, though. Will you be able to recognise me?”

Harry nodded, smile never leaving his face. “It will only take one look into your eyes.”

_fin_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr :) ](https://inked-withlove.tumblr.com/)


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